Wise child

Last night, I was talking to my daughter on messenger, and the discussion turned to the events of the year not being great. I, of course, said, as I do annually, hopefully next year will be better. (I should know better!) Wise child said.... it won't be. There will always be awful things that happen. The part you need to focus on is how you grow from them in a positive way. How you handle the worries and not the worry itself is what matters. I did point out that the past 9 years had not been spectacular. She reminded me that 9 years was more than half David's life.

Wow. That pulled me up short. Half his life. I spent a lot of time thinking about that, and the last nine years took on a new dimension. If I look not at the awful things, but on what has happened because of them, it is amazing how different it seems. I am unrecognisable from the woman I was back then. Temper tamed, more patience, more faith, happy with so much less. I am calmer, I have learned how to prioritise, and rely on my talents more. I have had to sort out things I thought I could not do. I have learned to trust my instincts, and to be less confrontational but I can still be a warrior when I need to be. My son is a happy gentle giant. Undemanding and content. So focussing on the positive and putting aside the difficult, I can see how friendships have deepened, new friends have been made. My experiences have enabled me to be there to help other people when it has been necessary, and throughout all the turmoil, I have gained so much that is precious.

Wise child indeed.

A year gone by

It is a year since Diana went to New Zealand. And how bad a mother am I that I can't be sure it was the 18th or the 19th. One of them anyway. What a year it has been for her. She has moved to a new country and new city, with 2 new jobs and new friends. She has settled so well, and just loves where she lives and the challenge of building a life somewhere different. She does tend to leap into life, if you know what I mean, and our loss is certainly NZ's gain. She loves the beauty of NZ and being so close to the sea, and she has a car, aka the Brown Rocket, and the confidence to get out and explore. I know there are times when she feels very far away, but there is the miracle of modern technology to help. Messenger, Skype, text messages, and email. And cheap calling rates. So we have been able to stay in touch and see and speak to each other.

I miss her dreadfully, of course, but she is in the right place for her. Having her home earlier this year was wonderful, but short, and not under the most ideal of circumstances, but seeing her was so great. So, happy NZ anniversary, Diana! We love you very much.

Newsletters

This is the time to start thinking about Christmas letters and I know you all get the ones that list all the glorious achievements of families you know. They are hysterically funny at times, and I always try to read between the lines and imagine the reality in the "perfect" homes. I get loads every year, and I love them, but no-one EVER tells you when things go wrong. I mean, when last did you hear that someone's teenagers needed a stint in bootcamp? Or that little Jimmy was proving to be useless at football. Or that it was quite clear that little Susie was not destined to be a ballerina? That you could do with a visit from Supernanny? That Johnny failed his driving test? Sometimes I think of sending out one of all the disasters of the year instead. (Or just an email with my blog address instead and then they can read the bits they want to.)

Life is not rosy all the time. I am not perfect. I don't have perfect children. Great kids, but not perfect. I have not written a blockbuster. Just a blog. I am not glamorous. My nailvarnish is chipped. The highlights need re-doing. My house is generally chaotic. And it suits me. I have a normal family, and live a normal life. It is the sense of humour and the laughter that makes the difference. It is interesting and never boring. "Stuff" goes on here, and everyone knows they are always welcome........ people matter more than things here. They just clear things out the way and find somewhere to sit. After they have made themselves coffee.

And yes, I have done my letter already. Well, I wrote it and emailed it to daughter at the other side of the world, and she did magical things to it so it now looks terribly impressive. Everyone will think I am a genius. She knows how to do the complicated things I can only dream of. Did I ever mention that she taught me how to do a power point presentation while on messenger one night?? I kept wailing that it didn't work, and so she sent me "Mum's idiot's guide to powerpoint". It worked. Daughters can be very useful.

Back to my newsletter. I am sending mine out in November. The events of the year do not make for jolly festive reading, so I thought I would be considerate and send it before the trees go up, and the mince pies are baked. That way I won't depress everyone when they are expecting to be amused by my perfect family's glorious year. I should change the title to " If we can survive this year, we can do anything".

D Day 2

I am shattered. It has been a long and exhausting day. Liz and I went down to Oxford early, and had time to have a coffee and walk around a bit before we went to the meeting with the surgeon. He told me what his impressions were, and listened to mine. He told me the facts from his perspective and in the end asked what I was going to do next. I told him I had been waiting to speak to him before deciding, but that I was doing nothing in a hurry. I will take my time now. I have a lot to think about, and a lot to wade through. But it doesn't stop here. I can't leave it yet. And he understood.

The hardest part was the fact that his office was right outside the door to the unit where Geoff died. But then, I decided to look at that as a positive, as he was not in some ivory tower miles away, but right there where he was needed. The relatives' room, which I spent so many hours in, looked small and ordinary and not at all like the place that was my whole world for those dreadful hours.

I also believe he understands the "instinct" thing that I wrote about in my post last month (D Day) and that was good to hear. He also asked if I was medically trained. Hmmm. No I said. I have just learnt a lot. He said I used medical terminology with great confidence and clearly understood what I was talking about. Good. Did I ever mention that I grew up wanting to be a doctor? All through my childhood. Then I believed the teacher who laughed and said I did not have a hope in hell of getting into medical school when I asked her to fill in the application form I needed. So I walked away from a dream. I was stupid back then. I should have tried anyway, (I would have got in... I got good enough marks) but just didn't believe enough. Don't ask me why. But that was then and this is now, and my life has been just fine thanks.

So..... here I am. Tick another box to say I have faced one more hurdle. Lots still to go though. Mega big ones. I know I am being very vague at the moment, and not telling you anything real, but whatever I decide to do next could involve me moving onto another level of instant learning. So I am watching what I say for now. He was a nice man. I think I trust him.

Somewhere I love

Back to Oxford

Tomorrow is probably going to be difficult. I am going back to Oxford, to meet the surgeon who operated on Geoff, (whom I have never met) to ask the questions burning holes in my brain, and to hopefully get some answers. It is 3 months since he died, and I am no nearer getting the explanations I need. I put away all the papers and medical notes after I met the consultant here, and concentrated on living, but tonight I have been going through them all again, to familiarise myself with the medical terms, and make sure I know what I am going to ask about. I haven't been back to the John Radcliffe Hosptial since I walked out the door that night, to tell my children that their father had died. My friend, Liz, is coming with me, and she will take notes so I am free to ask the questions.

Between the 2 hospitals, I have been sent about 800 pages of medical notes. What I didn't understand, I have looked up and learnt. Ask me about culture negative endocarditis, or pulmonary oedema, or an aortic valve abscess, or dyspnea, or stenosis, or cardiac failure, or trans oesophageal echocardiagrams. I can give you an answer. I had no desire to know anything about any of these, I can assure you. But now I do. Doctors say one thing, the notes say another, and I saw something totally different. Nothing adds up. Who is right? I have no idea. But I have to find out. And the inquest could take years. They say months, but the ones being heard at Oxford now are from 3-5 years ago. I am not going to even think about that.

Diana is right. Nothing will bring him back. But that doesn't take away the need to know why and what happened, and I owe it to him to find out. It cannot and will not become an obsession, but I understand why most people just walk away. It is emotionally exhausting, not to mention mentally and physically. I am weary just thinking about tomorrow. All I pray for is grace and patience, and a clear mind. And answers that make sense.

Cars, coffee, cakes and conversation

1. Warm October days (19 degrees C today)
2. Lazy Sunday lunches
3. Music that stirs the soul
4. Inspiration
5. Good books to read

The weekend is nearly over, and it has been good. Yesterday we went to the Traidcraft coffee morning, and it was heaving. So many people, and that was really great to see. Coffee and cakes, time to catch up with friends, and the opportunity to buy Fair Trade goodies too.

Talking about fair trade, there is a programme on this week re the cheap clothing sold at our giant supermarkets, and the link to children making the clothes in India. I will watch and see what the investigation has to say. While I am delighted to be able to buy clothes that are cheap, I do not want to buy things that encourage child labour. How do we know where any of our things are made? Or by whom? We have become so used to getting things for so little, that we lose sight of the person who creates them. I know this is a huge problem for someone like me, who makes things. I make quilts. Some have nearly 100 hours of work in them, and yet, if I were to sell them, I would get a fraction of the minimum wage for the work I delight in. It is better to give them away. There is a problem with the perception of "home-made". Home made still means amateur. "Hand" made is better than "Machine" made. But in the designer world, something really basic made by a big name, is commanding astronomical prices, while other things made by unknown people with great skill, fetch a pittance. Sigh. Another soapbox subject.

David and Simon spent 4 hours yesterday, fixing the hole in the exhaust of the "allotment car". Well, we do use it to go down to the allotment. David learnt how to do something really useful. If he wants to use the car, he has to learn how to fix it too! He and Simon were sprawled in the middle of the road so I had to take a photo while watching to save my son from being squished by any passing car. Chaos reigned while the babes played inside, Jackie discovered Beehive Bedlam, and Mum carried on crocheting, and I supplied "joos and bithkits". Happy chaos. The kind I love. The more the merrier. It was great to see David race outside this morning, to see if the paste had set on the repair. He then came in and announced that, in his opinion, it was ready to be test driven. I tested. Perfect repair. It no longer sounds like a tank.

Lunch with friends, church with more friends, and more painting. Food for the body and soul, companionship and creative expression....... who could ask for more?

Blog for history

I have just heard on the news that next Tuesday, 17th October, there is a project here in Britain, to get a blogging snapshot of life for history. We are supposed to list all our actions for the day, including text messages, calls, what we ate, did, thought, saw, said. It is supposed to be gathered for future historians many years in the future, to get a real view of life in 2006 in Britain. It should be a fascinating collection. Boring is apparently good too. The fact that our cars are petrol/diesel etc and what petrol costs. (My US friends may get a shock at that one) The price we paid for the things we buy. How far we travel. If we have cordless phones. How we get from A to B. How long, I suppose, the washing machine takes, and what we cook on, never mind what we actually cook. The best way would be to think in terms of how you would explain your day to an alien. Hmmm. I can't find the link, but will get it later tonight when the news is on again, and I am watching.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/breakfast/6044604.stm or
http://www.historymatters.org.uk/output/Page1.asp

Proof

That I have not being sitting here all day on the computer. I was on a roll, lining everything up to spray and seal them, and the wretched NEW spray I brought back from Switzerland seized up after the first lot, despite me shaking the can for the required 3 minutes before using it. So the assembly line is looking like the M25 in rush hour. (For those out of the UK, the M25 is the motorway circling London. Avoid at all costs....it can be a giant car park.) Tomorrow. One more day is fine.

David and I went down to the allotment this evening to check on the state of the beans and the weeds. Weeds not too bad, thankfully, and the beans...... I have another 3 kgs to freeze. Beans are beginning to pall, I confess. Too much of a good thing perhaps, but I am grateful to have them! This October is on course for being the hottest on record, and so there are still more to come. Geoff would have been so pleased with his efforts, and it is great to see David grinning with pride. He has done really well keeping them watered and looked after.


I had a surprise visit from Lorna, Simon and their little boy, Joel tonight. They walked round with some sticky buns Lorna had made for us. It is not long since they moved to the village, and they are a delight. What a difference friends make to my life. I know I keep saying this, but it is worth repeating. Friends are a real blessing, and MY friends are a special blessing. Making new friends is like adding more jewels to your crown. A collection of friends is the best sort of collection you can gather. They last. Possessions can't laugh or cry with you, and they can't listen or advise. Nor can possessions share a cup of coffee with you. Coffee. I need more. I am in danger of getting too philosophical again, and it is too late at night for that.

Eyes half closed

1. Fun helping to make cyber friends smile
2. Making new friends
3. Tiny paintbrushes
4. Super fast drying glue
5. Laughter through the frustration!

After a marathon session on line last night, I am still half asleep. I cannot describe what I look like, but if I take off the glasses I look blurry so that is fine. Just fine. I visited so many new blogs, and saw so many beautiful photos of people and places I have never seen before. There is a whole world out there, you know, and this was a way to pop in and see how many simply stunning places there are still to discover. One day. People who are interesting, and funny, and who really enjoyed helping to make Mary at Owlhaven's day very special. There I was with paintbrush between the teeth, rushing back and forth to see what was happening.

The painting and glueing is moving on at snail's pace. Some are disasters. Some ok. But my kitchen is worse than ever. I HAVE to finish today. Sitting here writing is procrastination of the nth degree!